


A Penny for My Master

by Siamese_and_Cookies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, F/M, He won't be a slave forever let's be real, Hermione just wants to live and work in peace, Master/Slave, Ratings might change as we go forward, Swearing, don't take this seriously, focusing more on their crumbling marriage, gross historical inaccuracy, married Hermione/Ron, self-indulgence at its finest, slave Tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siamese_and_Cookies/pseuds/Siamese_and_Cookies
Summary: Tom had always known he was meant for greatness. And he would achieve it too, just as soon as he got these damned shackles off.Hermione hasn't lived a very long life, but she's already fed up with it. So why does she never manage to find any peace and quiet?Ron never manages to make his wife happy. His poor decision-making skills could be a reason.A tale told in three parts: of a slave who would be king, of a marriage that crumbled because marriage counsellors weren't a thing in ancient rome and of an unlikely relationship between a man who wants everything and a woman who wants nothing.





	A Penny for My Master

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, I have no idea where this idea came from. But I ended up spending a whole day I was _supposed_ to studying scouring google on information about ancient Rome. I'm more familiar with Greece than I am with Rome (and that's saying something) so historical inaccuracies might be abundant.
> 
> Another thing, I wrote their names as is because: 1. I hated the idea of trying to 'romanise' their names and 2. I'm lazy af, so lemme know if you prefer to keep their names as is or if I should find alternatives for them. And if neither is preferable, too bad because this isn't even a serious read.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> * **Fair warning**: this is all unbetaed and I only gave it a cursory go-through, so you might find errors. I'll go through it when I have a bit more time *

There were two sorts of people in the world: those that did and those that watched others do. Tom had always believed himself to be in the former category. In rudimentary terms: he was meant for greatness. Now, greatness was a tricky thing to quantify. What was a successful feet for one was a menial task for another. Tom’s greatness was to be the sort that was universally recognised as greatness. And while boyhood heroics on the battlefield had slipped through his fingers (owing to a bad spot of luck being a child out of wedlock - to a man who wanted nothing to do with him and a woman from a once-renowned family that now lived in a ransacked hovel - and which ultimately resulted in him being sold as a slave in his early childhood) he would figure out another way to etch his name into history.

He would become a king among kings.

An emperor upon whose empire the sun never set.

Tom would achieve greatness, no matter who he had to kill or who he had to serve - _he would be **victorious**_.

**~ * ~**

The midday sun beat down on Tom’s bare skin, warming it despite the cool wind that blew. It was market day and he was being paraded along with the other slaves towards the auction house. They had let him keep his tunic - for now, though he knew it wouldn’t last long. He grit his teeth, testing his shackles for the umpteenth time. No good, they used a good pair, damn them. The card that hung around his neck beat against his chest with every step he took.

The card proclaimed that he was literate in both Greek and Latin, was a smart, young, fit male and could teach mathematics and medicine. Basically; prime picking for any rich Roman lord. Tom wondered how much they would pay for him this time - he had only been a few hundred drachma when he was a boy; illiterate, small and weak. Now it was different.

If he was anything less than seven hundred drachma, he would be disappointed. 

The slave boy in front of him tripped over his own feet and fell to the dusty floor. Their keeper yelled at the boy to hurry to his feet. Snivelling, he did. Tom’s lips pulled up in a sneer. Pathetic. This whole situation was pathetic. He wasn’t supposed to be in _chains_. 

He looked at their keeper as he herded them to the auction house and he glared as fiercely as he could - wishing upon all of the gods that he could burn a hole in the back of the man’s head. He remained blissfully unaware and they continued in a line to the auction house.

It was a simple building and ‘house’ was relative. It was an open-air, limestone and mortar building with wooden stages along the walls and an open courtyard for buyers to mingle and observe. On non-market days, it was usually taken up by other stalls - artists and fruit sellers and sooth-sayers all crammed to the sides, calling out eagerly from the shade the roof provided to potential buyers. Tom had been to his fair share of markets when he had to run errands. He also knew that it wasn’t only the merchants and hawkers that were eager to dip their hands into people’s purses - thieves flitted about as well. 

Tom would know that _too_; he used to be a street thief himself, once.

They passed the arch welcoming them to the auction house and Tom felt the instant change in temperature. He blinked away the dark spots that came when one came from the light and followed the other slaves to their auction dock. The forecourt was crowded already with eager buyers chattering amongst themselves. The purse-thieves were also hard at work.

Tom watched as a particularly nimble little boy crept behind a fat, balding man in a crisp, white toga. The boy made sure he stayed invisible, unimportant as he casually slipped his hand forward and snipped the purse strings. The grey pouch fell to the floor soundlessly among the cacophony of auctioneers calls and boisterous conversation. The boy knelt, grabbed the purse and disappeared into the throng.

Tom was jerked roughly and told to remove his clothes because he was up next. He was tempted to defy them; he was a very expensive piece, after all, and they wouldn’t want to risk doing anything to lower the price they could get for him. He didn’t though, not really. He just took an obscenely long time undoing the rope that held his tunic together and stepping out of the fabric.

The board proclaiming his skills and the shackles that bound him were the only things he had as he was forced up the wooden steps and onto the make-shift stage. The auction started immediately.

A man with dark hair and a dark beard called for the first amount - a measly, hundred drachma for Tom. Tom snorted.

The man was laughed at and then beaten instantly by three more offers, for over two hundred drachma, over three hundred and then over four hundred. It was better, but still not as much as Tom should be worth.

The auction continued. _Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred_. They stayed stagnant on that number for a while. _Seven hundred and ten, seven hundred and fifteen, seven hundred and twenty_. It continued for a while. They passed eight hundred drachmas. Tom was tired of standing in front of the crowd with no clothes on. They lingered on eight hundred. The poorer buyers had long since stayed silent and were only watching. In fact, they had drawn quite a crowd. He was possibly becoming one of the most expensive slaves ever bought.

_Eight hundred and fifty. Eight hundred and fifty-five._

Tom rolled his shoulders and tested his shackles. They were slowing down now, only three people were even bidding anymore. He probably wouldn't even hit Eight hundred and ninety.

_Eight hundred and sixty. Eight hundred and sixty-five._

And then a voice called from deep within the crowd,

“One thousand drachma!”

A hush fell over the auction house. The crowd parted and a tall, gangly, ginger-haired man approached.

“One thousand drachma for this slave.”

No one tried to out-bid him.

A murmur began.

The auctioneer turned to the slaver, who nodded.

Tom was sold for one thousand drachma to a ginger he would have to call master.

**~ * ~**

“Hermione!” Ron called from the foyer of their house, “Hermione, come here!”

She gave a parting command her daughter and rose to meet him. He had come home very late - she had told him only to get the bare essentials for the party the following night. And as she left the kitchens and came to the foyer, she found out why.

He had a slave with him - an unfamiliar slave which meant one thing.

“Now before you get angry,” Ron started, but Hermione took a step forward.

“Ronald Weasley,” She began, “what have you done!”

The slave watched them through his dark eyes but Hermione didn’t care at the moment.

“Have you not been listening to _anything_ I’ve been saying all year! We’re lagging behind on payments and at the rate this is going, we’ll be drowning in debt!”

“He’s very smart, Hermione! He can help out with our work!”

“And how much did you pay for him? Smart slaves don’t come cheap.”

Ron avoided eye contact and Hermione’s blood froze.

“Ron. How much did you pay for him?”

He cleared his throat. She took another step forward.

“How much?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ron yelled back. She turned away from him and looked at the slave.

“Do you understand Greek?” she said, switching to her mother tongue.

“I know both Greek and Latin,” he replied smoothly, his pronunciation was impeccable.

“How much did he pay for you?” Hermione continued in Greek. She knew how much Ron hated it when she spoke in it - it ‘disgraced’ him, apparently. He was probably just jealous that he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

Tom thankfully didn’t so much as glance at Ron as he replied, “One thousand drachma, _mistress_.”

She swore.

“What did he say?” Ron demanded, turning to their new, expensive slave, “Oi, what did you say to her?”

“Ronald Weasley, I swear upon the gods I will poison your wine one of these days,” Hermione hissed, “One _thousand_ drachma? Did Zeus bless the ground he walks on him to make him this expensive?”

“_Jupiter_, Hermione. We don’t invoke the names of Greek gods in this house!”

“We are going to starve to death, Ronald! It doesn’t _matter_ if I call on Zeus or fucking Jupiter!”

“You’re over-reacting,” Ron walked towards her and grasped her arm, “Stop _screaming_, woman. The whole neighbourhood will know our business.”

She wrenched her arm free, “They’ll _‘know our business’_ when the loan sharks come banging on our doors demanding we leave our home and land!”

“Enough!” Ron said, “I’m going to go and dine with my brothers. Don’t wait for me.”

“So you’re going to run away? You incur a _thousand drachma debt_ on our _family_ and then you run away?”

He rounded and glared at her, his cheeks as red as his hair, “I got him because he knows medicine. I got him because he could teach _you_ medicine. Something you haven't stopped harping on about since the day we got married. I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my gift but I only had _you_ in mind when I bought him! And I’m not _running away_, I’m going to ask them for help.”

Ron turned around and left. Hermione stood there for a moment, catching her breath and processing everything. The soft clinking of metal drew her out of her thoughts and she turned to find their slave was still standing there. She sighed, and drew a hand down her face. She was far too tired for all of this.

“They didn’t even remove your shackles?” She asked.

“No, mistress.”

“I suppose I'd better get you a change of clothes. And we’ll see to your chains too, they can't be comfortable.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

She hummed, “Don’t thank me yet. We’re going to work you hard, I won’t lie, but you won’t be out in the fields if that’s any consolation. Ronald said you’re smart, are you good with numbers?”

“I am.”

“Then you’ll help with the book-keeping and finances for our shipping venture. Ronald has no head for numbers and I’m already far too busy with our children and other business to help him.” She sighed again, “Follow me.”

She moved then and led the way through their house. It was the same house Hermione had known for years. She had been married young - both Ron and her. Before the last raids on her hometown, her father had made arrangements with Ronald’s family and she was ‘married’ as soon as she bled. ‘Married’ being a liberal term, she was actually more of a ward to the family seeing as Ron had barely even been a year older than her and it wasn’t until they were both well into their prime that the actual marriage was consummated.

Twelve years after she had joined Ronald’s family and they had a household of their own, complete with children and slaves.

Though Hermione wondered how long that would last.

“Do you have a name?” she asked, slipping back into Greek. She so rarely got to speak it and none of their other slaves or household members understood it.

The slave was silent for a moment, “Yes.”

“Well? What is it?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas is a bit of a mouthful. Could I call you Tom instead?”

“As you prefer, mistress.”

“If you’re as intelligent as you’re claimed to be, you’re entitled to your own opinion. Around me, at the very least. I dare say Ronald isn’t the sort who wants to hear what our slaves have to say.” She shrugged, “More fool him.”

“If I may be so bold as to say, well, I don’t really _care_ about my name, mistress. You can call me whatever you wish. How you treat me, on the other hand, is something I’m more interested in.”

She smiled at that, “Bold indeed. You’ll be treated well by me, Tom, I promise you. And considering what Ron paid for you, I’m sure he’ll treat you just as well. I can’t speak for the rest of the family, but you won’t come to any physical harm while you're here.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

They reached the kitchens and Hermione called for their cook.

“Dobby, come here for a moment, if you will. Could you fetch a new tunic for our new member: Tom? And bring the keys. They left his shackles on.”

Dobby - a kindly, bald man with wide, soulful eyes (not unlike a dogs) and a long, pointy ears - bowed and rushed to fulfill her orders. Hermione sat down on the bench and looked up at Tom. He was a handsome man, there was no doubt, even if he didn’t fit the typical standard of beauty. Dark hair and dark eyes. His body wasn’t muscular but toned from years of labor. His skin was light, despite his status which drew more comparison to his hair and eyes. His nose was straight and his jaw strong and his face perfectly symmetric. And he was tall, though perhaps not as tall as Ronald.

“Dobby will look after you. He’s very kind, so don’t worry about asking him any questions.”

Tom inclined his head in understanding.

“You’ll follow his lead for today and tomorrow. Can you play music?” Tom shook his head no, “Well, you’ll help him serve for the party tomorrow. After that, we’ll get to work on the finances.”

“As you wish, mistress.”

Hermione reached over and grabbed a bunch of grapes from a serving plate, popping them into her mouth and chewing them as she considered what was next on her list for the day. Tom watched her every move. She paused, a rich, sweet grape halfway to her mouth.

“When did you last eat?”

“It’s been a while,” he admitted after a moment.

She swore. Then swore again for good measure and got to her feet, pushing the bunch of grapes into his hands. 

“Eat this for now, I’ll tell Dobby to get you bread and wine. Animals - no, they’re _worse_ than animals.”

Tom devoured the grapes with far more grace a starved, shackled man had any right to. She watched him quietly as he ate.

“You’ll be taken care of here, Tom, for as long as we have you.”

“Mistress?” he asked once the last grape was gone.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about our situation. If we don’t settle our debts, we’ll be thrown out of our house and all of our slaves will be sold.”

“I see.”

“We have time, till Vestalia, ironically enough, to pay off our dues or we won’t _have_ a hearth.”

Dobby returned and Hermione removed his shackles with an iron key.

“They all use the same locks,” She told him as she wiggled it around until the shackles opened, “So you only really need one sort of key to open it, and we never threw ours out from when we got Dobby.”

After that, Tom was entrusted to Dobby and Hermione left to check on her children. Specifically their progress with sums. 

**~ * ~**

The party had gone better than she expected. All of Ron's brothers had joined them and the wine had flowed freely. They ate, watched and joined the hired lyre players and dancers as they entertained them and sat in front of the warm fire by the end of the night, lazy and drunk and giggling. The party was long overdue - Harry and Ginny's wedding dinner, that is.

Hermione and Ginny had moved themselves into the parlour and Ron, Harry and all the Weasley men were in the main hall. They could have stayed with the men, but they wanted some time to themselves. Hermione had extracted herself twice before to check on her children and she had used this as an excuse as well.

"How're they doing?" Ginny slurred as Hermione joined her in the parlour room and settled herself on the sofa. Twinky was with them, standing to the far side in case either of the girls needed her services.

"Sound asleep. They wanted to join us so badly but they're still too young."

Ginny grinned, a happy, drunken smile, "They have only barely begun to speak properly, they have some time before they can join us."

"I see you still can't hold your liquor well."

"On the contrary," Ginny twisted so she was facing Twinky, "Fetch me another cup of wine, would you?

"Yes, mistress," she chirped and went to fulfill her order.

"Gods, you're _still_ drinking?"

"And you won't? The night is young, Hermione! Live a little."

Twinky returned and Ginny drowned herself in more wine. They talked for a bit longer and then Ginny fell asleep on her sofa. Hermione had Twinky fetch a blanket for her before she rose to her feet and went to check on the men.

Ron was asleep, as well as most of his brothers. But Charlie and Harry were still awake and talking in heated, hushed voices. Tom, who was supposed to be serving the men, was standing just outside the room.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione murmured quietly in Greek.

"They told me to wait outside."

She furrowed her brows, "And why is that?"

"They don't want me to hear what they're talking about."

"And what are they talking about?"

"Who, would be more precise."

She snorted, "Alright then, _who_?"

In the low light, with only the torches of the candelabras to provide illumination, Tom's dark eyes swirled like a black abyss.

"Spartacus."

They didn't notice at all when Hermione entered the room and leant against the archway. As she listened, they were indeed talking about Spartacus and all that he had done. Charlie had a more liberal take on everything - as he so often did while Harry ventured towards a more conservative stance. Charlie believed if Rome hadn’t had slaves none of the revolts would have happened. Harry argued that slaves were a necessary evil - the things they achieved with slaves would have been almost impossible without.

Hermione understood why they’d sent Tom out. He hadn’t shown the full scope of his intelligence, but he was a quick learner and he had sharp senses and that was dangerous enough as is.

“If Claudias hadn’t been such a proud, old fool and just _listened_ to what they had to say, we wouldn’t have had the losses that we did.”

“Careful, Charlie,” Hermione said, “Our Emperor was a great fan of Gaius Claudias.”

Charlie had the decency to blush in shame, “It isn’t treason to point out the faults of our leaders, Hermione. It’s why we live in a democracy.”

Harry snorted at that, “Democracy? Charlie, now you’re _actually_ pulling my leg.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We don’t live in a democracy, everyone knows that. Yes, we can vote who to put into power and therein lies the problem.” Harry leaned forward and Hermione took a seat next to her slumbering husband, eager to join in on their debate, “Because _anyone_ can vote, that also means fools and illiterates can as well. And corrupt patricians take advantage of that - they can _buy_ votes from the people. How is that democracy?”

“Yes,” Charlie replied, “but your ‘fools and illiterates’ are mostly plebeians. And they can only vote for their own patricians - they have nothing to do with the rest of us.”

“You have fools and illiterates even among the normal masses, Charlie,” Hermione chimed in. Harry sent her a look of approval and ploughed on.

“Hermione’s right. And it’s these sort of people who mess it up for everyone else.”

Charlie rubbed at his eyes, drunk and tired, Hermione could relate, before he continued, “How did we even get to this point? Alright, what solution do you propose?”

“Only allow the educated masses to vote.”

“Come off it.”

“I’m serious!”

Hermione scoffed at that herself, “So just because I can’t afford to have my children tutored, that means suddenly they don’t have a say in how their country should be ruled? _That_, my friend, is undemocratic.”

“Better an undemocratic decision than one that could lead to Rome’s ruin,” Harry shot back.

“I need sleep,” Charlie muttered to himself. Harry and Hermione ignored him and huddled closer to continue.

“I think that instead of excluding _even more_ of Rome’s population from the right to vote, we should focus on educating the masses - on reaching the ones you consider foolish.”

“Hang on, what do you mean by ‘even more’?”

“Keep the racket down,” Fred (or was it George?) called from somewhere on the ground near the fire.

They lowered their voices once more, and pressed closer.

“I mean women aren’t allowed to vote and it makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Well, I mean, it’s because women have weaker minds compared to men.”

Hermione’s brows rose. Harry faltered.

“You’re the exception, of course.”

“So Ginny is stupider than you, is that it?”

“Look, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that women’s minds are designed for child rearing and looking after the house. Men have minds that are more inclined towards active thought and-”

“That is utter _bullshit_ and you know it.”

"It's not bullshit, it's science."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, because _you're_ a man of science."

Harry's face brightened at that and he could come up with no retort. 

"You're missing the point," he said eventually, "I think all educated _people_ should be allowed to vote - not just educated men. I'm sure there are women who are exceptions, like yourself. And they should be allowed to vote as well."

"You do realise you can have educated fools as well, right?"

"They'll only be a fraction of what they are right now."

Hermione ran a hand down her face. She had far too much wine to stand this. They were just going to end up going in circles.

"Let's just agree to disagree, shall we? I believe in a pure democracy where everyone is allowed to vote, regardless of gender and you believe in only allowing a small population to vote."

"Now, hang on a minute-"

But Hermione had already risen to her feet and left the room. All she wanted right then was to sleep. She passed by Tom, who inclined his head in a silent bow.

"Have my room fires lit, please. I'm going to go into the gardens for some air."

"As you wish, mistress."

She paused again.

"How much did you hear?"

His mouth, normally pressed into a line twitched into a shadow of a smile.

"Hear, mistress?"

"No need to act dumb, Tom. How much did you hear?"

"The other masters don't seem to share your world views, mistress."

It was the alcohol, that was the only reason she continued.

"And whose world views do you share?"

His eyes glittered, the light from the torch fire casting harsh shadows across his features.

"My own."

She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"And what do those views entail?" She pressed, genuinely curious.

He took a moment to respond, perhaps wondering if it was wise for him to even speak, "The abolishment of slavery. Empires rise through the sweat and toil of weak, yes, but the weak don't have to be enslaved to make them work. Because sometimes, sometimes people make a mistake and accidentally enslave someone they shouldn't have. When people make mistakes like that, rebels like Spartacus rise."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, found she had nothing she could say, and promptly shut her mouth. Tom waited a beat before stepping away from his station and heading towards the inner sanctums of the house.

"I had better go and get the fire started, _mistress_," He called softly over his shoulder as he was swallowed by the gloom.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, part one of three is done. Let's see when I can throw together part two. Hope you enjoyed! This is all purely self-indulgent, so please don't take it too seriously.


End file.
